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And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. She wouldn't be able to pass by anywhere without folks turning their heads. Not a bark could be discerned on the river, except those already mentioned. Apparently she was always doomed to weep when she talked to her father.
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This video was uploaded to tructiepcauthongthuongde.org on 20-09-2024 09:33:33
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